


You know that one day when everything goes wrong?

by Espisayer



Series: Everything Goes Wrong [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Almost crack humor but not quite, Alternate Human Names, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Humor, It also gets really emotional and I didn't plan on that, M/M, Nationverse, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 06:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18360401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espisayer/pseuds/Espisayer
Summary: It's like a purposefully cliche romantic comedy movie trying to be tongue-in-cheek, stuffed into the size of a TV show, except it couldn't be on TV because of all the pervasive F-bombs. Everything that can go wrong, goes wrong all in the same day. Until it doesn't. That's pretty much how Prussia's life goes.Warnings: I use alternate human names for certain characters.





	You know that one day when everything goes wrong?

**Author's Note:**

> Second warning that I use alternate human names. For this story, it's only Russia. (Aleksandr.) If that bothers you, please don't leave me a comment about it. Check out my profile if you want to know more.

Those that had the privilege of knowing of the nations’ existence would most likely think that by the year 2019, most nations that wanted to be in relationships would have everything worked out.

Those people would be very wrong―at their core the nation-people were very human. And humans are very stupid.

Germany and Italy didn’t get together until after the _2000s_ , and that was after a gigantic mess of misunderstandings, obliviousness, inability to express emotions or understand them―and, finally, Prussia blowing an airhorn at a group meeting and confessing _for them_.

It was rumored that England and France had started their off and on relationship all the way back before the 1400s. But people only started keeping tags (and taking bets) on their status around the 1600s. No one knew the true number of times they’d broken up.

They had an estimate, though. “429 times,” Prussia once told France.

France nearly screeched at him. “How would you know that?!”

“No one keeps records like I do!”

“Keep your own records! And go get laid! You have too much free time now that you’re―”

“I’LL DROPKICK YOU.”

Go get laid, though―that wasn’t a bad idea. Except he had his own problems. He was _fully_ aware of them. He just like to pretend to be ignorant, as opposed to admitting he didn’t know how to handle emotions, either―like how he’d fucked up _pretty_ badly a few decades ago, when Russia had confessed his feelings to him and he’d just stammered like a douchebag and then avoided him for the next two weeks. Or months. Or whatever.

Well, it wasn’t like it was breaking news or anything! They’d been sleeping together intermittently since the 1800s and he could read Russia like a book―which was saying something. The guy was like a safe. Speaking of which, it was _his_ idea in the first place to keep everything a secret and uncomplicated.

Prussia couldn’t recall that conversation exactly, but this disaster _definitely_ wasn’t all his fault. And he definitely wasn’t trying to hide his guilt under his obstinate ego. Besides, if Russia was really holding that much of a grudge, he wouldn’t have suggested carpooling when they found out they’d booked the same hotel on the way to the meeting tomorrow in Turkey.

Well, his brother was the one that was supposed to go and happened to come down the the most disgusting flu at the last minute, but details.

-

“Don’t put your feet up on the dashboard.”

Prussia clicked his tongue and kept them there, proceeding to kick his seat back. “Oh, come on, it’s gonna be a two-hour drive. Lighten up.” He even dared to reach for the radio.

Russia smacked his hand away and gave him a sharp look, but kept his voice even. “Remove them before I pull over and do it for you.”

“ _Yikes_. Somebody’s in a mood.”

“Are you trying to piss me off?”

“Maybe. I mean, I’m not _not_ trying to piss you off.”

Russia’s lips pressed together thinly. “I’m about to drop you off on the side of the road and you can hitch a ride with a trucker.”

Well, shit. “You know I don’t take your threats seriously, Aleksandr!” Using his real name worked. Russia finally stopped glaring at him, eyes flickering away back to the road. “Why did you let me tag along if you’re just gonna be angry about it?”

“I’m not angry.”

“Aleksandr.”

“Prussia.”

“Don’t _Prussia_ me.”

“Please move your feet off the dash.”

Please? Trying to backtrack now? He didn’t say anything for a moment. “You know… I could take my shoes _off_.”

Russia eyed him. “You worked out this morning, didn’t you?”

“Yep.”

“Never mind.”

-

The sunlight in the winter time quickly lost the fight against the pitch darkness and hard snowfall. Prussia could’ve fallen asleep… if not for the deafening silence in the car. It was smothering like someone was smoking a cigar with the windows up. He could sleep in the middle of gunfire easier than this.

It was possible that he’d made a _grave_ misjudgment in Russia’s capacity for forgiveness.

Still, he tried to test him.

“How’re your sisters?”

Minutes passed. Not a word.

“Politics?”

No dry laugh.

“Sex life?”

Not even a blush? Well, fuck.

He missed that. Probably too much.

Russia would not utter a word. He refused to. He wanted Prussia to suffer. He knew he hated the silence with a passion―if not for knowing him for hundreds and hundreds of years, he could tell by the way Prussia incessantly tapped his foot on the window and sighed through his nose. And those intermittent attempts at making conversation. And annoying him, trying to goad him into breaking his silence.

It was driving him insane, too, but he wouldn’t let Prussia have it.

So… Why _had_ he agreed to this in the first place? Because he was a depressed, lovesick idiot? Probably. He tried not to think about it when they finally, _finally_ arrived at the hotel.

They nearly ran into each other trying to get to the front desk first. Russia narrowed his eyes at the man getting on his last nerve. “I’m sorry, do you speak _Turkish_?”

Prussia paused before cursing under his breath, stepping back and crossing his arms. “Fuck. Well, check me in too, then.”

“I’m not your assistant.”

“Look―now you’re just being―” No, wait. Prussia paused to smirk. “I’ll owe you a favor.”

He still thought innuendo was going to work. What a fool. “I don’t want any favors from you,” Russia quipped―earning himself a little spiteful pride out of Prussia’s smirk vanishing. “Unless you’ll be quiet.”

The pride was short-lived. Prussia was too quick-witted and he should’ve known better. “I don’t think I’m the one we have to worry about.”

Russia had to restrain himself from cursing him out. Or putting a gag on him. “Gilbert, I swear to―”

“Hey, you used my name! Progress!”

“Give me your _ff_ ―Just give me your I.D.” he hissed.

After they fumbled around with their things and presented them to the receptionist, the man kept a thin smile and simply replied, “Thank you,” before looking up their information on his computer.

Both Russia and Prussia shared a moment of silence before they realized the man had spoken English. It was evident on Russia’s face as it crept up in the form of a blush. Fuck. He should’ve been more―

He heard Gilbert snickering and snapped his head around, “ _Zatknis'!_ ”*

“No ty takoy milyy, kogda krasnesh'!”**

“Sir?”

Russia turned back around and frantically put his polite face back on, “Y-Yes?”

“There is no reservation pulling up under your name.”

He frowned as the color drained from his face. “What? How is that possible?”

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid we have no other rooms available.”

No. This wasn’t happening. “But―Wait! I have the receipt!”

The receptionist only watched as Russia reached over the table to take the papers back and rifle through them―but there was nothing. He always planned out his trips so carefully, this couldn’t be right. “No, I―I must have it―wait.” He dropped his attache case onto the floor and started tearing through them. For several minutes.

Not even attempting to hide his smirk, Prussia leaned on the counter behind him. “Aleksandr―”

“No, I have it! It’s in here… somewhere!”

He was always so put-together, Prussia would be lying if he didn’t get a kick out of seeing him flustered. He turned to the receptionist and told him, “Put him up in my room, we’ll figure it out.”

“What? No!” Russia nearly shouted. And then lowered his voice again. “No. It’s fine! I have it.”

“You don’t have it, Schatz, you never did.”

The glare Russia shot him was almost as hot as his face looked, “ _GIlbert_ ―”

“There’s an extra charge,” the receptionist interjected.

“I’ll find another hotel!”

“Streets probably won’t be safe,” Prussia said.

“I _’ll be fine_.”

Knowing Russia was furious, but also that he wouldn’t want to cause (more of) a scene in public, Prussia ignored him and presented the secretary with a credit card. The guy really didn’t have much of a choice―all the stars were aligning against him.

Russia didn’t do much more than grumbling under his breath, upset with himself while he had to comply with this disaster. Because it _was_ a disaster. And he was tempted to blame Gilb―Prussia for the entire thing.

Prussia dropped his suitcases beside the bed and flopped down. “Well, this is―”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Russia seethed, tossing his cases haphazardly onto the floor.

He sighed. “Don’t what? Talk?”

“Yes. Don’t talk to me.” He unraveled the scarf around his neck and threw it down on his suitcase, followed by his coat. It was abnormally aggressive. “And don’t call me any fucking pet names after we’ve barely spoken in 30 years.”

“Uh…”

The bathroom door slammed before he could get a word out―probably for the best. He hadn’t seen Russia that angry in… well, about 30 years.

Fuck. If that didn’t hit him like a punch to the stomach. Prussia groaned and ran a hand through his hair as he fell back onto the bed.

This wasn’t just fucked. It was royally fucked. And not in a good way.

Russia stayed in the bathroom for… quite a long time. The silence was even worse than the car ride, but even worse than that, it gave him way too much time, more time than he would ever give himself to be introspective and reflect on what was going on and himself and how it was all his fucking fault. Fuck it all to hell, he wanted to punch himself.

The problem was, he got a weird, acidic feeling whenever he tried to think of something to say. Even after Russia came back out, they didn’t speak, hardly made eye contact.

About five minutes after Russia laid on the floor to sleep, though, was Prussia’s breaking point.

“Aleksandr―”

“No.”

He sighed through his nose and sat up in the dark. “Take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Being a stubborn ass is my job. Just―”

“I told you not to talk to me!”

He hadn’t noticed because of how quiet Russia had been, but the choking in his voice made Prussia’s stomach twist. Oh, no. “ _Please_ tell me you’re not crying.”

“I _’m not crying_. I just sound naturally pathetic,” he replied as his voice cracked horrendously. “Shut up and go to sleep.”

“God―Fuck, I can’t even handle regular people crying!”

“Then pretend I’m not here! You’re really good at that!”

He pulled out the fucking knives when he was upset! Getting stabbed might be less painful. He didn’t know what the fuck he was planning on doing, but Prussia stumbled out of the bed―literally, onto his knees, crawled over to where his Russian mess was lying on the floor. “Ow―fuck―you know what I’m good at? Being a fucking idiot!”

“You’re aware of that?” Russia snapped, glaring over his shoulder―except it was only effective in making Prussia feel like a bigger piece of shit because there was at least enough light in the room to see his eyes looked more like a puppy that had been kicked.

That made him feel like a murderer. “Stop it. Stop crying. You’re killing me!” He didn’t know what to do, though! _Was_ there a way to fix it?

“Go fuck a toilet.”

“What the f―You say the weirdest fucking shit sometimes.” For all his petrol, he didn’t move at all when Prussia cupped his face and wiped the tears off his cheeks. “Fuck. I miss you.” God damn it, his own voice was starting to feel raspy.

Russia’s violet eyes looked at him longingly for a moment and then squeezed shut while he nearly whined. “You can’t say things like that. I hate you.”

He says this while gripping Prussia’s sleeves and burying his face in his chest. He frowned and rested his chin in Russia’s hair. “So… make me sleep on the floor.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“That’s not what I want.”

Prussia knew what he wanted. He wasn’t an idiot. He _acted_ like an idiot, a complete moron, but he wasn’t one. He wanted to be together with Russia, but words and talking things out had never been his strong suit. One horrible decision made out of a fear of expressing emotions and here they were.

He could’ve gone about this a few different ways, could’ve thought about it so more, or at least bided his time for more than a few seconds. But he didn’t. Not right now. “Then sleep in the bed with me.”

Russia stalled considerably. That’s a terrible idea.”

Prussia grunted at himself, “No, I don’t mean it like… C’mon, just get off the floor. Stop crying. I don’t know what to say! I’m a stupid fuck.” He sighed. He still didn’t want to get emotional. He just wanted everything to be fixed. “There. Nobody else gets to hear me admit I’m ever wrong, so get in the fucking bed before I start crying too. We’re gonna fucking sleep―just sleep―go to the fucking meeting tomorrow and then―I don’t know. We’ll figure something out. I love you.”

Oh.

Well… he’d just gone and blurted it out.

Russia stared at him.

He didn’t know what to say.

-

The meeting was 8:00 sharp that next morning, though due to the shitty weather they were having quite a few absences. It was 9:00 already and they didn’t have half the people that were supposed to show up. Germany was sick, Italy’s flight was delayed―the most ridiculous one might’ve been that Turkey himself was late, while America and Canada were there bright and early after spending half a day on a plane.

They hadn’t yet heard from Russia nor Prussia, which Hungary found strange, considering she’d been texting Prussia last night just before he’d arrived at the hotel.

She had been loitering around in the hallways waiting for them, hoping they didn’t get caught up somewhere in the storm―until Prussia burst through the doors. Russia trailing behind him, looking exhausted. They both had a limp.

“What’s up, Hungary?” Prussia nearly shouted down the hall, as if announcing himself.

“Nothing yet―you two look like shit!” she said incredulously as they approached, dark-eyed and disheveled. “Did something happen?”

She vaguely heard Russia mutter something under his breath at Prussia, but he kept grinning, “Nah, we’re fine. Slipped and fell on the way here.”

“Both of you?”

“Yep.”

At closer inspection, she told him, “You don’t look like you’ve slept at all.”

Russia was tight-lipped while Prussia laughed and slapped her on the shoulder, “Those hotel rooms are cold as fuck. What, you trying to say something?”

“No, no.” She smiled. “Have you had any coffee today, Gilbert?”

“No, why?”

“You seem a little excitable.”

“He’s going crazy from lack of sleep,” Russia put in, before walking and pushing Prussia along with him. Not entirely gentle about it.

She still heard them bickering while they walked off. “I’m not crazy!” Prussia insisted. “You’re just mad about paying for the damages.”

Hungary had never heard such a vehement hissing of Russian cursing in her life―even during the Cold War. But Prussia only cackled as they disappeared down the hall, so she waited until they were gone to laugh.

Then she texted Germany. “I think it worked.”

Germany texted her back shortly. “You’re kidding. What did you do?”

“You don’t want to know the details, just trust me.”

**Author's Note:**

> What spawned this idea was the whole "of course there's only one bed" cliche but that didn't end up being the focus exactly. I always seem to have ideas that sound funnier and shorter in my head, and then when I get to actually writing it, my anal perfectionist side comes out and says "You still can't write crack, I will not allow it. This story needs to be at least 2,000 words, grammatically correct, and true to their character even while they're being stupid as fuck" or at least true to my characterizations.
> 
> Hopefully it's still funny by the end! ^^; Let me know if you liked it! Make no mistake, the shortest reviews can make a fic writer's day.
> 
> I'll also be posting this on my tumblr, espisayer-hetalia.
> 
> Translations:  
> *Zatknis'!/Заткнись! "Shut up!"  
> **No ty takoy milyy, kogda krasnesh'!/Но ты такой милый, когда краснешь! "But you're so cute when you blush!"  
> (I used Google Translate for these. If they are incorrect please let me know and explain why.)


End file.
